Paradoxes, Pellets, Puzzles and Puft

Look! It's not three o'clock in the morning! I actually managed to finish this one before midnight. Go me.

Anywho, here for your entertainment, is the next installment of the Passage of the Planeswalkers.

It might also be the last for quite a while as I am starting a new fatansy character in a campaign we are going to call The Seeds of Ragnarok. My new character is a warlock by the name of Bubbles the Bloodletter. Dis gon' be gooood...

The weird sorcerer, Orin, was back. He had an elbow in the crystalline gates of Lisseth, effectively keeping them open. He was focussed however, on the two butterflies he held gently between his fingers. He appeared to be trying to make them mate. Lereahl, Rathalohse and Mulch watched in amusement as the newcomer to their group, a small gnome druid named Glo Shortcloack who had black eyes, green hair and a saucepan on her head, offered to help the man. With surprising skill, Glo was able to make the two reluctant insects get down to business quite successfully. Orin seemed delighted and sent the travellers on their way through the portal, only after gratefully kissing Glo.

 

The white magic sizzled around the planeswalkers, drawing them forwards them into some new, mysterious world. In unison, the four felt that they had somehow passed through a doorway. Their vision cleared to see that a huge door had indeed swung shut behind them. Rath and Lereahl glanced knowingly at each other and drew their weapons immediately. The two gnomes looked at them in confusion.

“We’ve been here before,” explained the ranger.

“This plane is called Parallelodox. I don’t know how it came to be, or why it does what it does, but every time you open another door, uh, interesting things are bound to happen,” added Lereahl.

They took in the room before them. The walls were made of smooth, black stone bricks. Out of the corners of one’s eyes, they appeared to bleed. In the middle of the room was a huge stone bowl of deep red blood, held up by a hideously carved claw. Surrounding it in seductively glinting piles, was a mountain of gold and jewels. Mulch gasped. Before anyone could stop her, she had thrown herself at the treasure. She stopped however when the room was suddenly filled with soft, menacing laughter. Wisps of darkness swirled, forming into a humanoid shape in front of Mulch. The creature was eight feet tall and had the head of a vulture. It hunched down, peering with beady eyes into Mulch’s face.

“Greetings... adventurer...” it croaked.

Mulch stared coldly back at it. The others were silent in shock.

“I have a question,” the gnome said.

The vulture demon cocked its scaly head.

“Go on?”

“If I take some of this treasure, do I have to give you anything?”

The vulture smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

“No.”

“Trade anything?”

“No.”

“Give up anything at all?”

“No.”

Mulch eyed the demon bird warily, then bent down and picked up a single gold coin.

The vulture demon laughed.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t take anything from you. And so I shall take your life...” it hissed. It gestured and suddenly the whole room was plunged into a complete magical darkness.

“Damned,” muttered Mulch.

Lereahl heard a sharp intake of breath on his right, then felt a small hand on his rear. Glo had reached out to find him and Rath in the darkness. Up ahead, he could hear Mulch cursing and stumbling around, causing clinking cascades of gold. The creature screeched and Lereahl raised his bow, hearing Rath do the same, and aimed for the noise.

Something swiped at Mulch in the darkness. She swore again and backpedalled quickly. She couldn’t see even her hand in front of her face in this inky blackness. She reached into her backpack for an item she’d picked up on a recent adventure. She thrust the glowing banner up into the darkness, creating a tinysmall globe of light. The demon screeched again at the light and then again as two arrows whizzed through the darkness, burying themselves in its flesh. Glo had run forwards now, slipping and sliding across the gold. She swung her hammer at the monster, connecting with a sickening thud. Mulch lashed out with a dagger, and narrowly avoided the talons that clawed at her face. She cried out as the hooked beak sank into her shoulder. She turned and dove into the gold pile, the creature’s claws raking across her back. In the darkness, Glo had lost her sense of direction and could no longer reach the demon. Mulch on the other hand, had turned again and leapt from her hiding place in the treasure, hoping to surprise the demon, but instead had leapt into its waiting arms. Another arrow found demon flesh as it gave a triumphant cry. Mulch cried and struggled free of the claws, avoiding the snap of the beak this time. She dove back into the gold pile. With a soft whisper, the darkness around the planeswalkers began to dissipate. The demon gave a displeased growl and then spun at Lereahl as he shot it again. There was sudden movement from behind the demon. Like some strange gold-dwelling shark, Mulch leapt from beneath the surface of the treasure, glee on her face, a dagger in each hand. The demon screamed as she sank them both into its spine. It collapsed in a flurry of hissing darkness.

 

“So, which door?” asked Glo, looking around at the four doors. They’d just finished divvying up the treasure. Lereahl shrugged and strolled towards the door straight across from the one they’d originally stepped through. He grasped the huge brass ring and pulled. The room beyond had another stone bowl of blood in the middle. The walls were black stone too. There were people standing looking through a door on the right hand side of the room. One was tall and blonde, another had a top hat, and the last two were short. The shortest wore a saucepan on her green hair.

“Uh...” said Lereahl. He turned around to see his fellow companions right beside him and staring confusedly back at him from the door on the right in the room behind them.

“That’s us...?” asked Glo, scratching her head.

“I, uh, think so,” said Lereahl, looking again through the door at the other ‘him’. “We’ve created a paradox. This door leads to, well, this room again.”

Rath, however, narrowed his eyes at the other figures. He drew back his bow and fired at the other version of himself – and received an arrow in his ribs from the Rathalohse behind him. Lereahl shut the door quickly as Rath turned and began yelling at himself. The half-elf shook his head, as if to clear it.

“Well. That was weird,” he said. Glo and Mulch nodded, still a bit dumbfounded. Rath just glowered and pulled his arrow out. As they went to open a different door, Lereahl was suddenly struck by how sexy he looked from behind.

 

This room was much easier to adjust to. Growing from an earthy floor was a small forest. The trees were huge and quite shady, and a clear path seemed to lead from their door to the others. Along the path however, were strange bundles. When examined closely, one could see the bones of all sorts of animals, or occasionally a humanoid skull and metal armour. Glo had knelt next to one and was poking it with a stick.

“Pellets,” she said.

“Excuse me?” asked Lereahl.

“Pellets. Owl pellets. They cough them up,” the gnome explained.

“Huh. Well, I don’t see how a little owl could cough up something as big as that. That would have had to come from an owl that’s, what, about ten feet tall?” said Rath. He began to laugh at the idea but then paused mid-chortle, realising what he’d just said. Lereahl’s brow creased.

“Eyes on the sky,” he said warily.

They walked along the forest path, weapons trained nervously on the curiously bright ceiling far above them. The pellets were many here. Lereahl didn’t want to think about how many giant owls had made them. Without warning, the half-elf felt a strange tingling shoot across his chest. He rubbed at the area, looking under his shirt to see the strange magical tattoo there squirming slightly on his skin. The silver owl’s feathers seemed to ripple. There were gasps of fear from the rest of the group and Lereahl was startled as he looked up to see an enormous black owl land silently in front of them. It was, as Rath had guessed, about ten feet tall. Its wingspan was a breath taking thirty feet wide. They all drew their weapons, waiting for the creature to attack. It didn’t however. It looked at Lereahl, head bobbing, huge silvery eyes wide and curious. Lereahl was stunned as it hopped closer. It lowered its enormous head and nuzzled at his chest, knocking him over.

“Er, hi,” he said, stroking one of the white streaks that ran from the corner of its eye up to the tip of its ear feathers. The great black owl twittered softly, seeming to enjoy the petting.

“Why’s it doing that?”  asked Glo.

“Perhaps it likes his owl tattoo,” joked Rath, who’d noticed the half-elf clutching his chest moments before.

“Lereahl has an owl tattoo?” asked Mulch. “How do you know about this, ranger?”

“I uh...” Rath mumbled, his face turning rather pink, but the group was distracted by a soft whooshing noise coming from behind them. Another huge owl, a tawny, was diving towards them, gleaming talons outstretched. The black owl leapt to intercept the giant tawny. The two enormous birds collided with and odd crunch. The tawny shrieked as the black owl’s claws raked its breastbone, spattering the companions with drops of hot blood and feathers. There was another screech behind them and they turned to see three more owls swooping overhead. There was a grey, a brown and a pure white one. Rath, who’d already drawn his bow back when the black owl had landed, turned his arrow instead on the brown one. It hit the owl and sent it plummeting into the trees. His next arrow was true too, downing the huge grey owl as it swooped low, snatching at Mulch and Glo. Glo wasn’t interested in trying to hit the enormous creatures. Instead she ran towards the black and tawny owls who were now screeching and wrestling on the ground, kicking up plumes of dust and knocking down small trees. The tawny threw off the black owl, who then backed down slightly. Glo had her hands up in a peaceful gesture and was calling softly to the tawny owl. The black owl returned to Lereahl. Glo continued cooing to the tawny owl. It stared at her, its intelligent amber eyes cold, but did not attack her. Lereahl had turned now too. He fired and arrow at the pure white owl which had just dived low to claw at him. The white owl was winged and crashed to the ground. It screeched horribly, thrashing and fluttering, its wing dragging behind it. It lashed out, clawing Rathalohse. The ranger strung another arrow and put the creature out of its misery.

Mulch handed Glo a nice fish he’d been saving for a snack. She took the fish and laid it down in front of the tawny owl. The great bird eyed her warily, but then bent down and snatched up the morsel. After a little more coaxing, it allowed itself to be petted, and eventually followed Glo, Mulch, Rath and Lereahl and his black owl towards the next door.

 

The door was a little stuck, seeming to have not been used for some time, despite the well worn path leading to it. They managed to push it open when Lereahl’s new friend gave it a nudge with his head. The room beyond was a dazzlingly white. In the middle of the room, a large white sphere hovered. It was covered in flowing, shifting, spinning gold lettering. The words seemed to be written in every language imaginable and occasionally they could catch one in common as it flitted past. They were words like dreams, happiness and wishes. Lereahl was immediately a bit wary of the room and the sphere. He looked closer at both, but really couldn’t sense anything bad at all. In fact, the room seemed to give off rather pleasant vibes.

“What is it?” asked Mulch, looking starry eyed at the sphere.

“I don’t know,” murmured Lereahl. He began to walk towards the sphere, his arm outstretched. Rathalohse had seen the flickering word wish and begun wondering what his most dearest wish would be. He immediately thought of cheese. He smiled as he imagined having a block of the most delicious cheese ever created. As he imagined this, he suddenly became aware of a lump in his pocket. He put his hand in the pocket, and pulled out a lump of nice yellow cheese. He stared at it in confusion, broke a tiny crumb off and tried it. He almost swooned with delight.

“Guys... It’s a wish machine,” he said groggily, his eyes half closed with happiness.

“A wish machine?” said Mulch, turning back towards the sphere, a thoughtful look on his face. Immediately, the gnome began wishing to be a male again. Somewhere in her adventures, Mulch had once been a he. Through a mysterious and unlucky series of events, he’d been turned into a woman, and cursed to never be able to wear pants again. But no matter how hard Mulch wished, she did not become a man again.

“Damned. It’s not working,” she said grumpily. “You’ve used up the wish on that stupid cheese! I could have been a man again!” she yelled at Rath. Rath looked highly offended.

“Never insult the cheese!” snapped the ranger.

“Guys, stop bickering. I think I know why your wish didn’t work,” said Lereahl. He’d approached the sphere and placed his hand on the swirling gold and white surface and his head had suddenly been filled with images of all sorts of weird and wonderful contraptions. There were incredible folding ladders, amazingly fine suits of armour, the most beautiful weapons imaginable, dazzling, delicious looking foods – but none of these things were magical.

“Your wish was a magical one. I don’t think the machine grants magical things,” Lereahl said, removing his hand from the sphere.

“Oh...” said Mulch. Instead, she began thinking of her second dearest desire. A pair of pants so good that she’d be able to finally wear them again. Suddenly, she was wearing pants. She laughed in delight. They were the softest, most well fitting pants she’d ever worn. As she investigated further, she found that the pants were covered in many zips and pockets and seemed to be infinitely customisable. The gnome beamed with happiness.

Glo was thinking hard about what she might want. She looked up at the half-elf and the human ranger, realising again how short she was as a gnome. She wished that she had some way to be as tall as them. A pair of stilts appeared on her feet. They were comfortable and instantly easy to use. They were also quickly adjustable, allowing her to be as tall or as short as she wanted in a matter of seconds.

Lereahl took a long time to decide. There was really nothing he wanted or needed currently. He had plenty of gold and treasure and his magical bow was something that probably wouldn’t be surpassed by anything the machine could give him. He stroked the black owl’s head thoughtfully as it bent towards him. Then he had an idea. Instantly, the huge black owl was wearing a fitted saddle, tack and barding armour. The armour was silver, black and white, matching the huge owl’s colouration perfectly. The owl was surprised at first, but as he swivelled his head all around, examining the new additions, he hooted in an approving sort of way. The white sphere’s swirling golden words changed to read things like thank you and farewell. The companions chose their next door feeling incredibly happy with their amazing gifts.

 

The next door they pushed open revealed a huge swamp. In the middle of the marsh, they could see a tall, sinister looking tree. Vines hung down from its branches. They swayed in a nonexistent breeze, occasionally coiling like snakes.

“Ooh. We probably shouldn’t go that way,” said Glo. “Those are Assassin Vines. They’ll wrap themselves around you and choke you to death. But they’re the least of your worries. See that tree? That’s an Umbral Banyan. It will grab you and then shift into the Shadow Plane – and then beat you to death there.”

“Huh. Well. Shall we walk around it then?” asked Rath. There were nods from all the others. Although difficult, they did manage to make it through the marsh, avoid the sinister tree, and open another door.

This room was dark. Sitting on a glowing throne of embers on the far wall was creature made of fire. He had the torso and head of a man, and the serpentine tail of a snake. Upon his head and glowing white-hot were a pair of antlers and a crown. He roared and sent a huge fireball towards the four, striking Rathalohse with a sound like mountains colliding. The ranger gave a cry, fell to the ground and stopped moving. The others rushed towards him. His skin and clothing was charred and smoking. He had no breath – no heartbeat. The ranger was dead. The others could only stare in shock. They were brought sharply back to reality as the salamander king bellowed, preparing to fling another fiery blast at them.

“Help me get him out of here,” Lereahl said to the gnomes, hooking his arms under Rath’s shoulders. The gnomes grabbed a leg each and they dragged the body through the nearest door, slamming it in the livid salamander’s face. The two giant owls shook soot from their feathers and looked on curiously as the three companions laid Rathalohse in the grass. They appeared to be in a quiet garden, not that the three really noticed. Mulch reached into her pack with a shaking hand and pulled out a health potion.

“It won’t work,” murmured the half-elf. “He’s already gone.”

Mulch put the potion back. There was silence in the garden. Even the owls had become still, sensing the sadness in the group. Glo had not known the ranger very well, but she was still shocked at how suddenly his life had been extinguished. Mulch had known him for longer. She couldn’t believe that the skinny human was gone. She sat in the grass just staring uncomprehendingly at the body.  Lereahl’s face was screwed up in anguish. He’d known the dairy-loving lunatic longer than any of the others. Sure, he was an adventurer; a warrior; a planeswalker. This sort of thing was expected. Just the other day, they’d mourned Jet and Mange, the seemingly unstoppable shield wielding dwarf, and cannonball-like barbarian halfling. The pair had gone up against demi-gods together. They’d fought valiantly, but had perished. But never had Lereahl seen a companion die right in front of him. He cringed at the thought of burying his friend.

“Uh, guys... I think I might have a way to save your friend,” said Glo. Mulch and Lereahl looked up at her.

“Well, I am a druid. Technically we can, uh, reincarnate people,” she said, wringing her hands.

Lereahl just stared at her.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” asked Mulch, getting up and wiping at her eyes.

“Well, because I haven’t, you know, actually done it before,” muttered Glo.

Lereahl  got up too.

“Don’t worry. We have faith in you,” he said, taking the small gnome by the shoulders and smiling encouragingly at her.

 

Glo had warned them that the reincarnation process would take a while. When the blinding white dome of light had finally fallen away, Rathalohse struggled to sit up.

“Whoa, calm down, calm down,” said Glo, running forwards to catch him.

“Wha... What happened?” Rathalohse mumbled, looking incredibly dizzy. The other gathered too, expressions ranging from curious to downright alarmed.

“You were hit with the fireball. You, uh, died. But don’t worry! I’ve just finished reincarnating you!” explained Glo. She sounded quite exhausted.

“You didn’t say he’d have a different body!” exclaimed Lereahl. Glo had indeed neglected to mention to them that Rathalohse wouldn’t be the same person, let alone the same species.

“Different body?” asked the groggy Rath.  He looked down to find that his lower legs were slim and covered in brown fur. Curling from his new long, brown hair was a pair of spiralled horns.

“I’m a faun?” he asked in shock.

“Er... A little more than that...” said Glo, pointing behind Rath. He twisted slightly to see that he had hind legs as well as fore.

“You’re a Bariaur,” said Mulch, now trying to suppress a giggle. “A goat centaur!”

“Also, you’re quite busty...” said Lereahl, picking up Rath’s now tattered and burnt swallow-tailed jacket and top hat and handing them to him. Rath looked down.

“I’M A GIRL!?” Her new, angular face was filled with horror.

 

The four decided to rest for a while longer. Rath had collapsed in the grass in shock, her four legs splayed. Mulch sat with her, trying to console her.

“It’s not that bad,” said the gnome. “You’ll get over it after a while. And besides: boobies.”

Lereahl and Glo had left them alone to recover and were now scouting the garden. It seemed very calm here. The owls seemed quite happy to trot along behind their new keepers. The pair eventually came upon the centre of the garden. Here, carved upon a great wooden table, was a riddle.

 

I start as a box, with no lock or key.

Nothing but time and space can open me,

All my life I push towards heaven’s front door,

But I push towards hell just as much, if not more.

I drink of the waters, I breathe from the sky,

But I don’t move an inch till the day that I die.

What am I?

 

Beneath the riddle was a small thorny pencil. Glo scratched her head.

“I’ve always like riddles,” she said. “But they can sometimes stump me really good.” She laughed. Lereahl put a finger to his chin.

“Hm. Stump...”

Then he picked up the pencil and wrote beneath the poem: I am a tree. The riddle vanished. The tabletop then clicked and slid backwards, opening to reveal a hidden compartment. Glo reached in and pulled out their prize. It was a flail. There were four heads and each glowed with a different colour. It felt very magical.

“Here, you should have it. You solved the riddle,” said Glo, trying to hand the flail to Lereahl. The half-elf shook his head however.

“Nah. You keep it. You gave me the answer anyways when you said ‘stump’. It made me begin to think of trees,” he said.

Glo laughed and nodded.

“Fair enough,” she said.

They made their way back to Mulch and Rath. Rath had finally been able to stand up again on her four new legs. She looked grumpy, but definitely less stunned than before. She led the group towards the next door.

“Feel so weird not wearing pants...” she grumbled.

“Tell me about it,” said Mulch, who then surreptitiously patted her incredible new pants as if to check that they were still there.

 

The sweet scent was enough to knock over a fully grown man and send children into sugar comas. Lereahl pushed to door open wide to reveal the incredible landscape beyond. The earth was made of chocolate, the trees of striped candy. The rocks were enormous sugared lollies, the river of liquid chocolate. The four companions walked inside, looking around in wonder. Glo snapped a sugared flower off a tree and put it in her mouth.

“’s real!” she said around the candy.

“Sweet,” said Mulch, grinning and reaching for a chocolate pebble. The rest of the group were about to dive into the sugary magic too when they heard a strange sound behind them. It was a crunchy marching sound. The four turned to see a large army of five foot tall gingerbread men marching towards them. The ones in the front were smiling and giggling. The ones in the back however, had angry faces iced onto their heads. They were faster and more agile, leaping and flipping through the others.

“Hah! Ninja bread men!” said Rath, pointing. Beneath the rumbling of the gingerbread footsteps, the group could hear the bass thud of something much larger moving through the candy trees. The four gasped as a huge man, made completely of puffy white marshmallow stomped into view. He roared at the sight of the four Planeswalkers. Lereahl drew and arrow from his quiver and grinned at the others.

“Anyone hungry?” he asked slyly.

 

The four sat around the crackling fire as the sunlight dimmed in this strange candy world. They’d made a bonfire of the candy trees, which burned surprisingly well with blue and pink flames.  They were now roasting bits of the marshmallow man over the fire on long candy sticks.

“Well,” said Rathalohse, “that was the most delicious victory I’ve ever had.”

The others laughed. Lereahl turned to his new avian friend and held up a large piece of a ninja-bread man’s head. The black owl leant down and snatched up the treat, seeming to quite enjoy the taste of the ginger bread.

Trousers

Good evening/morning! I present to you the next installment of the weird and wonderful and slightly wanton Passage of the Planeswalkers. Also, stay turned for next week's episode - it's going to be a little different. You'll meet some new characters in a completely new futuristic setting. It has lasers and guns and giant, angry bee-aliens! *Pew-pew! Pew!* *Other assorted laser noises*

There was an unusual crunching underfoot as the travelers stepped through the crystal gates of Lisseth. They found themselves squinting against a sudden glare. One could equate it to a sudden snow blindness; the harsh light seemed to refract off everything. Once their eyes had adjusted, the planeswalkers saw that it was not snow that reflected the light, but every blade of grass on the ground. Each leaf was a tiny shard of glittering green glass. The trees were the same - tall, glittering structures of brown and green and rusted red glass. A slight breeze filtered through the leaves, bringing with it the sinister chiming of millions of razor leaves.

Through the trees, they could see a stone dais. The group headed towards it, threading their way gingerly through the glittering trees. In the lead, was Targar Ironsoul, the stocky, warhammer-wielding dwarf. Behind him was a newcomer by the name of Leander Farstrider. He was an elf with scrubby, auburn hair and blazing green eyes. Slung across his broad shoulders was a longbow. The half-elf Lereahl was for once, not bringing up the rear because Wolfenight winced along behind him. The wizard was not one to wear shoes and the glass-like grass was indeed very sharp.

 

As the adventurers approached the stone dais, there was a hiss and a tall, intimidating looking man in sweeping green robes appeared amidst a puff of purple smoke.  He looked down his crooked nose at them. His eyes were as sharp as the glass leaves around them.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a commanding voice. The travelers stopped as if pinned by the man’s gaze. His voice seemed to resonate with untold power. He was obviously a great wizard.

“We are Planeswalkers – travelers, come to seek adventure and treasures,” said Targar, stepping forwards. He stared back into the wizard’s burning gaze. It was not like a dwarf to be looked down on so. The wizard rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms with an unimpressed noise.

“Well, if you’re here, then I may a well ask you to help me. I am searching for herbs of unusual power, said to grow around these parts. Bring several samples back to me and I may consider rewarding you,” he said.

Targar opened his mouth to retort, but the wizard waved a lazy hand at the group. They felt themselves be spun around and rapidly marched away by some strange magic. Targar grunted furiously as he fought against his limbs. Once they had been walked a sufficient distance, they felt the magic begin to lessen and were able to take control again. Targar seemed all for storming back to the wizard and introducing him to the business end of a warhammer, but Wolfenight was able to convince him that they’d best just do what the wizard had asked of them. He achieved this by looking worriedly back at the way they’d come, and then sprinting further into the forest in the opposite direction.

 

After an hour or so of winding their way through the glass forest, they came upon a huge wall constructed of the same glassy wood. Wolfenight, who now wore a brick on one foot, and a sack on the other, began to suggest ways that they could get over the wall.

“I could levitate myself up,” he said, gazing at the spiked top.

“But then how are you going to get over the wall? Your levitation spell only lets you go up and down,” said Targar, smoothing his beard.

“You know, we could always walk around and find a gate?” said Lereahl. The others ignored him.

“I could throw another brick at you?” suggested Farstrider.

“That would be wonderful!” said Wolfenight.

“Guys? Gate?”

“Okay, get that brick ready. Here I go!” Wolfenight cleared his throat and muttered the magical words of the levitation spell, sending himself shooting straight up to the top of the wall. Lereahl sighed, turned on his heel and began walking away.

“Okay! Now the brick!” called Wolfenight. Farstrider hefted the brick and lobbed it at the Wizard. There was a sharp ‘Ow!’ and Wolfenight was sent spinning over the top of the fence. There, he was able to let himself down and landed rather clumsily on the ground.

“It worked!” came the wizard’s voice from behind the fence.

“Yeah, okay, but now how are we going to get over?” asked Farstrider, indicating himself and Targar.

“Uh…” came Wolfenight’s reply.

“You do realize there’s a gate over here?” bellowed Lereahl.

 

An incredibly tall man had come to greet them just inside the town’s glass gates. He was a cleric and wore robes of white patterned with light grey swirls and stripes. Lereahl, somehow, was the only one not to realize that the man was actually a huge bear. A sheen of magic only made him appear human.

“Greetings travelers! Have you come to pay your respects to the Great Bear God?” The cleric gave them a wicked, fanged grin. Farstrider, Targar and Wolfenight all took a small step back in alarm and began nodding furiously. Lereahl looked at them, rather confused.

“Good, good! Now, tell me, how much do you know about our wonderful lord and host?” the cleric asked.

“Uh, not much,” squeaked Farstrider.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Wolfenight in a small voice. He dashed off. Lereahl watched him dart around the corner and into a small shoe shop they had passed on their way in.

“Well, for one, he is all around us,” said the bear-cleric, throwing his hands out wide.

“Yeah?” asked Targar, who was slowly getting over his shock.

“Indeed, young believer. He is our world, our life source, our very heart. He provides all. The glass tree is the fur upon his back, the earth - his holy flesh, the cold wind – his life-giving breath.”

“Wait. Basically you believe that you live upon the back of a giant bear?”

“A polar-bear to be exact,” said the cleric, nodding sagely.

“Okay, I’m back,” puffed Wolfenight. Lereahl looked down. The wizard had traded the brick and the sack for a pair of fluffy slippers with fake claws on the toes.

“Loving the bear-feet,” the half-elf sniggered.

“What are you talking about? My feet are no longer bare. That was the point of these,” said Wolfenight, waving a slippered foot at Lereahl.

 

The villager’s name was Shawn. He was all knees and elbows and shook like a leaf, but was happy enough to take the group wherever they wanted to go at the sight of the small bag of gold that Targar offered him. He led the travelers to the south, to where there had been reports of strange and violent beasts. The creatures here were like this because of one of the dangerous plants that grew in the forest, or so they’d been told by the bear-cleric. The Planeswalkers could only assume that these were the herbs that the great wizard had sent them to find.

The path was narrow and meandered vaguely through the forest. It widened at one point and Farstrider paused. He’d heard something rustling in the undergrowth. Past the first line of trees, lay the mouth of a dark cave. The rest of the group turned to see a puppy the size of a goat scramble out of the glass leaves and sit, panting, on the dirt. It looked at them curiously and cocked its head. Farstrider smirked at the pup and aimed an arrow at it. Lereahl darted forwards, putting a restraining hand on the elf’s shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said.

Farstrider glared at Lereahl.

“And why might that be?” he snapped.

“Well. It’s quite obvious that this creature is only a youngster. My knowledge is that puppies are generally closely guarded by a mother. And judging by the size of this pup, its mother would be… well, I’ll let you figure it out,” replied Lereahl.

Farstrider looked again at the huge puppy and thought for a minute. He lowered his bow. The party moved on.

Targar giggled. Lereahl looked worriedly at him.

“Are you sure it’s safe for him to keep holding that?” he asked Wolfenight.

“Sure!” the Wizard waved a dismissive hand. Lereahl looked back at the grinning dwarf, still not convinced. They had come across one of the odd plants that the bear-cleric had warned them about, and that the great wizard had sent them to pick. There had been a small grove where two specimens grew, glowing white and blue amongst the glittering green ferns and jagged glass vines. When approached, they had given one a lightheaded, giddy, almost blissful feeling. Targar had volunteered to carry the samples. Lereahl had never seen the dwarf smile so much.

“There’s a couple’s picnic area up ahead!” called Shawn, beckoning them. “I think some of those plants might grow there too.  It makes sense; couples go there because the place has a special, blissful feeling about it,” he added. He ran on ahead, bumping into glass trees occasionally and causing a racket. The planeswalkers trudged up the hill to meet him. They found him standing stock still on the edge of a clearing. Sure, it might have been beautiful once, with pretty glass flowers and shady trees, but lying in the middle of the glade, in a pool of dark red blood, was a dismembered hand. Shawn gave a strangled shriek and took off running back towards the village.

“Well. There goes my gold,” grumbled Targar. The blood trail led to the north. They decided to follow it. Wolfenight picked up the severed hand curiously.

“Hm… Human, female, young…” he mumbled, examining the slender fingers. He pocketed it and then ran to catch up with the others.

 

Farstrider smacked his head on a low hanging branch. He muttered a few elven curse words as he pulled a splinter of glass from his forehead. The sound of his voice was enough to alert the person in the clearing ahead.

“I hear you, cursed poachers. Come out so I may tear your veins from your flesh and feed the trees with your blood,” boomed a deep voice.

The adventurers shrank back in alarm, but the branches of the trees around them curled and whipped, pushing them onwards. They tried to fight the razor glass, but would have shredded themselves upon it, and so resigned themselves to being herded into the clearing. The four looked upon the owner of the deep voice and their mouths fell open in awe. They had expected a man, but towering above them was a huge, snow white bear. Its eyes glinted like obsidian and its hot breath clouded in the cold air.

“Now, poachers, The Lord of the Forest will make you pay for what you have done,” snarled the bear, raising an enormous paw.

“But we are not poachers!” cried Lereahl, cowering against the edge of the clearing.

“Lies! I know your kind. Setting wicked traps. Stealing my children. Just look at what you have done to this one!” roared the great white bear. Out from behind his tree trunk-like legs stepped a slender wolf-man. It was cringing in pain, holding the stump of an arm to its chest. The four companions looked at it in surprise.

“We did not do that,” said Lereahl.

“LIES!”

“No, really, we didn’t!” squeaked Wolfenight. He ran forwards, pulling the severed hand from his bag and holding it out. The wolf whimpered. The Lord of the Forest stared coldly down at Wolfenight.

“Mr, uh, Lord of the Forest, sir, would we really bring this back to a creature we’d tried to kill if we were poachers?” asked Wolfenight.

The great bear considered the trembling wizard.

“No, I suppose not,” he growled.

Wolfenight bowed, placed the hand on the ground and backed away, still bent over. The Lord of the Forest looked towards the injured werewolf and nodded to it. The werewolf shuffled forwards. The great bear closed its eyes and breathed out slowly. There was a sudden flash of blinding white light. When it dissipated, the werewolf stood in the middle of the clearing, tall, proud and whole once more.

“If your lordship does not object, we would like to help find these poachers for you,” Wolfenight said, bowing again. The great bear considered the offer for a moment and then dipped its head. The wizard turned to the werewolf.

“Do you know which way they went?” he asked.

The werewolf nodded and pointed a claw to the west.

“Thank you.”

“Be gone now,” boomed the Lord of the Forest, “before I change my mind about whether your veins should remain inside your body…”

Targar, Lereahl and Farstrider hurried into the forest. Wolfenight lagged behind.

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime?” he said to the werewolf with a clumsy wink.

She just stared and cocked her head in confusion.

 

On their way through the forest, they came across a dozen or so traps that had obviously been set by the poachers. Lereahl made sure he dismantled them all in a way that they could not be repaired. Read: made them safe to touch and then got Targar to beat them into unrecognizable shapes with his hammer. Soon they could hear the rushing, gurgling sounds of a river and over that, the distant roar of a waterfall.

The river was wide and deep. It didn’t appear to be very fast flowing, but the waterfall was quite intimidating. The river poured off a sheer red cliff face and fell down into a huge gorge. Very little avoided turning to mist before reaching the floor of the canyon.

On the bank of the river, the companions found more strange herbs. These plants were very different to the ones they’d picked earlier. They were tinted purple all around the leaves and spines and seemed to glow black, even under the shadowy ledge where the travelers found them growing. Farstrider reached under the large granite boulder to pick them. When his hands closed around their tough stems, a queer feeling came over him. His hands felt numb and his head a little light. He stood up and looked around at his friends. He suddenly began to think about how much he would like to fit an arrow to his bow and shoot Targar right in the forehead. Or perhaps grab Lereahl from behind and slit his skinny neck with his own dagger. Or maybe… Farstrider shivered. Lereahl looked at him, puzzled.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh… I’m hearing voices. They’re telling me to kill everyone,” said Farstrider in a monotone voice. His eyes were unfocussed.

“Oh dear. You’d better put those plants down.”

“Maybe…” replied Farstrider softly. He was looking at Wolfenight now, the beginnings of a scowl on his face.

“Farstrider? Did you hear me?” asked Lereahl, moving towards him.

Farstrider didn’t reply. He was reaching slowly for his bow.

“Leander!” shouted Lereahl.

The elf started, dropping the plants.

“Uh, yeah, what?” he said, looking around blearily.

“You okay now?” asked Lereahl.

“Yeah. I think so. That was weird…”

“Hm…” Wolfenight had bent down to examine the plants.

“Don’t you touch them now,” warned Lereahl.

“Wasn’t going to,” he said. He mused for a second more and then straightened up. “Mage hands!” he called, snapping his fingers. Some unseen force scooped up the bunch of herbs and held them in front of Wolfenight in a parody of a bouquet.

“Now we can carry them safely,” he said.

Farstrider shook his head again, frowning at the ground. The herbs’ power was strong.

“Okay. I think that’s all the flower picking we’re going to be doing for this wizard,” he said gruffly. “Shall we return them to him and then get the hell out of this place?”

There were nods and murmurs from Targar and Wolfenight, but Lereahl had other ideas. As most rogues do when they’re standing idle, he had been looking for things to steal.

“What’s that over there? In the water I mean,” he said, pointing. The other shaded their eyes, looking out into the deep, clear river. There was indeed something just below the surface.

“I’ll get it!” said Wolfenight. He was definitely having fun with his levitating skills today. The object rose out of the lake slowly. It was a huge old chest, dripping with water and rust. Wolfenight hopped into the air with a flying spell, whizzed out over the lake and then pushed the chest to shore. He hovered overhead, literally, as the others tried to figure out how to open it. Targar was the first to reach for the complicated looking lock at the front. He got a rusted spring-blade to the hand for his troubles. He stepped back, sucking the cut, and let the master lock-picker come forwards. Lereahl knelt in front of the chest, and after only a few prods of his skillful fingers and a stern look, the old box sprang open. They all grinned at the pile of gold inside.

“Save some for me. Flying spell is wearing out. I’ll go and give these herbs to the wizard. We really shouldn’t keep him waiting. Who knows what he might do if he gets impatient…” Wolfenight paled at the thought and sped off, his dressing gown flapping in his wake.

Wolfenight arrived at the dais just as the spell petered out. He landed on his rump in the sharp grass with a yelp.

“Your herbs,” he said, holding them out to the bored looking man on the stone platform. The wizard harrumphed.

“Well, if this was all you could collect, then I suppose I shall give you six-hundred gold in return,” he said. He scooped up the plants and slid them into one voluminous sleeve.

Wolfenight looked up in protest, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to.

“Only six-hundred? But we risked a lot for those! They’re worth much more. Just wait till my rogue gets here! He’ll charm your trousers off!”

“I’ll do what?” asked Lereahl, stepping into the clearing. Targar and Farstrider followed him. Wolfenight looked wildly around. He seemed to realize what he’d just said and paled even more.

“Trousers!” he squeaked in a panic.

The great wizard looked strangely at Wolfenight

“If you say so,” he replied, shrugging. He reached down, tapped Wolfenight’s shadow with a long finger and pulled out a pair of fine, brown trousers. He handed them to Wolfenight, who took them without a word – and wrapped them around his shoulders like a scarf.

Bang Sticks

A good ridiculously-early-morning to you fine sirs and ladies. This here Dungeons and Dragons short took way longer to write than I expected. So you'd better enjoy it *narrows tired, bloodshot eyes at you*

Lereahl woke up with an unusually powerful headache. Weird lights popped in front of his eyes. The second sense to come back to him was smell. He wrinkled his nose immediately. All he could smell was the horrible, sickly scent of rotting meat and garbage. He forced himself to remember what had happened. He remembered Planeswalker City. He remembered being very annoyed that Lady Celerean would be joining them on this trip through the crystal gate. Who else had come with him? Wolfenight of course. The blundering wizard had stuck close by the blonde half-elf ever since his, uh, “donation” to Wolfenight’s limited funds. Then there was the weird, sissy elf Eolderin and a new companion, a dwarf by the name of Targar Ironsoul. He was red-haired and stocky, a warhammer not far from his right hand, and a halberd not far from his left.

Hearing came back next. Lereahl could hear the others moving around him. Soft footsteps approached and the puzzled face of Wolfenight came into view.

“Hm. Not dead after all,” he said.

“You sound disappointed,” muttered Lereahl, getting up with a hand to his still fuzzy head. He drew the hand away in shock. There was filth in his hair. In his hair.

“Well, you know – brains and things are always handy to have fresh,” Wolfenight said airily and wandered away. Lereahl’s look of shock only increased.

The rest of his memory came back shortly thereafter. There wasn’t much to remember though. They had fluffed about in the city getting ready for the expedition, but as soon as they had stepped through the portal, something had gone terribly wrong. They had walked through the swirling white magic and straight into a smooth, dark room. Something must have sensed that they were there immediately and the room had begun to fill with choking gas. If that wasn’t enough, they had all been shot with some kind of poison dart. Now that Lereahl was able to look around, he realised that they had merely been tipped with some sort of sleeping potion. They had been taken and dumped in a kind of underground sewer. The horrid rotting smell was coming from a huge mound of dead bodies piled in the dimly lit cavern. Lereahl had to look away when he saw it. Before he did though, he noticed that the beings were unlike any he’d seen before. They were bipedal, with ochre skin and twisted, angry looking faces.

“There’s something weird going on here. I hope it’s not just me that senses it,” Lereahl said, looking anywhere but the corpses. The others nodded slowly. The angry red creatures looked very out of place in this smooth, artificial grey stone room.

“Oh, quite right. The magic is bent here,” said Wolfenight and walked off. Eol turned and looked quizzically at Lereahl. The half-elf shrugged, just as befuddled, and then followed Wolfenight down the corridor.

 

Celerean had just complained for the sixth time that she had muck on her new shoes when they rounded a corner in the sewer and came face to face with two very strangely dressed people. There was a man and a woman who were clad in very similar black outfits. The planeswalkers and the strangers stopped and stared at each other in alarm for a few seconds. The strange woman was the first to recover, whipping out a small, grey and black object and pointing it at the planeswalkers. They knew not what the device was, but as warriors, they recognised it as some form of weapon and drew their own. Faced with a dazzling display of glinting arrows, tight bowstrings, a huge warhammer and a dithering man in a bathrobe and a pointed hat, the man’s hands were shaking as he drew his own silver-black weapon.

The fight was incredibly confusing and extremely loud. The stranger’s weapons emitted cracks like lightning bolts, and tiny, impossibly fast darts ricocheted off the walls around the Planeswalkers. The two enemies were blasted back with a wave from Wolfenight. More deafening cracks resounded in the closed space as Targar leapt forwards to finish off the man. An arrow through the heart from Lereahl dispatched the woman. Targar was a little too enthusiastic and continued to hit the bodies after they were dead. The others approached, but before they could get a good look at the strange weapons the man and woman had been using, Eol had picked them up and thrown them into the murky sewer channel. Celerean glared at the elf. What they were sure of though, was the fact that none of them had ever seen weapons like them before.

They found more oddly dressed men in a room behind a heavy metal door. These men were equally surprised to see them, although they were dressed in white coats. Their weapons were elongated and sprayed chattering rounds of shrapnel. Wolfenight shrieked as the hail of metal fell on the Planeswalkers and he seemed to react instinctively.

“Friend!” he squeaked covering his head with his arms.

A blue ball of light rocketed wildly around the room and then hit one of the white coated men in the chest, knocking him on his ass. He sat up, looked around a little stunned and put down his weapon. Wolfenight peeked out from between his elbows.

“Friend!” he said happily, seeing the now pacified man.

“Get his – uh – the banging stick-thing!” yelled Eol. Celerean skipped happily forwards to collect the man’s weapon. Targar rushed in next as the second man was struggling with his weapon, appearing to swap out some sort of box. Targar grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to wrestle him to the ground. Unfortunately, the dwarf tripped and crashed to the ground himself. This sudden attack on his comrade seemed to wake the charmed man up. He got to his feet, angry, and lunged for the weapon in Celerean’s hands.

“No! Bad friend!” said Wolfenight, frowning, and a blast of white magic knocked the man over again. He lay on the ground, shocked and dead.

“Oh no! Friend! I’m sorry!” shouted Wolfenight. The remaining man had managed to get the black box into his weapon and turned it on Targar, who was still cursing on the ground. Celerean had to think fast. She’d seen the men using these weapons and they seemed eerily familiar to her flintlock pistol. She grasped the gun properly, and pulled the smooth, matte black trigger. The gun spat bullets and recoiled wildly, but the remaining man was sufficiently distracted. Lereahl darted into the fray with a misjudged tumble, leaping up right into the man’s line of fire. Two bullets flew through the tall half-elf’s shoulder before he loosed an arrow into the man’s neck, silencing the gunfire.

 

The room beyond appeared to be a barracks of some kind. There was a military feel to the neat cots and uniform colours, although an alien one. There were more of the artificial grey stone walls here and the feeling that the travellers were very out of place. Targar’s eyes were sharp enough to spot the only other thing out of place. Behind one of the cots was a brick that was slightly askew. When removed, a little drawstring bag of jewels fell out, followed by a small, incredibly lifelike painting. The painting was of a young girl and man. The girl was sitting on the man’s shoulders and they were both smiling happily. Lereahl grew sad when he recognised the man in the picture as the one he had just shot through the neck. Targar pocketed the picture and the bag of jewels with an unhappy look.

 

The companions stopped before the end of the next corridor, not sure what kind of enemies might lie beyond. Wolfenight was talking to himself. Or was he talking to thin air? Lereahl leaned forwards, his keen ears catching the whisperings of what sounded like another voice.

“Just tell us how many are in there,” murmured Wolfenight, his gaze fixed on something no one else could see. There was a faint hiss and Wolfenight flinched a little.

“Sorry! Sorry! I meant, could you please tell us how many are in there?” he said hurriedly. Lereahl looked on in puzzlement as Wolfenight stood quietly for a moment, and then turned back to the group.

“Three large men up ahead armed with big, uh...” he waved vaguely at Cerelean’s new weapon, “Bang sticks. Now, I’ll create a diversion with my Ghost Sounds spell.”

They crept towards the end of the hall. The room beyond was filled with tables and strange chairs with one leg that ended in six spokes. On the tables were boxes and flat squares that glowed with strange lights. Wolfenight peeked out, muttered a few more words and then ducked back behind cover. They heard some strange shuffling and banging noises from the door across the room. The three men looked quizzically towards the sounds.

“Go check it out. I’ll stay here,” said the biggest of the three. The others nodded and went to investigate. Once they were in the room and the last man’s back was turned, Wolfenight gestured furiously to Lereahl. Lereahl eventually got the hint and crept silently into the room. He nocked an arrow, drew a bead on the man and fired. The large guard slumped quietly to the ground. The rest of the Planeswalkers hurried quietly into the room. With a quick levitation spell, Wolfenight moved a table in front of the door. The men on the other side tried to open the door, but found themselves stuck because of the table. There was muffled shouting and thumping on the door. Then there was a tiny moment of silence. Realising that the men were about to try to ram the door open, Wolfenight whisked the table out of the way. The men came crashing through the door, tumbled and fell over one other. Wolfenight waved his hands again and sent several blast of white magic at the man who had made it through the door first. He spun, twisting and flailing as something else electrocuted him as well. The second man got Lereahl’s arrow through his arm, and Celerean’s through his shin. He fell, screaming to the ground. Targar walked up to him, warhammer raised.

“Drop your weapon,” the dwarf growled. The man whimpered and his gun clattered to the floor. Targar reached into his pack for a rope and tied the man up. Lereahl knelt down next to the dwarf and helped with the knots.

“Now,” said Targar turning back to the man.

“TELL US EVERYTHING!” shouted Eol leaping forwards and shoving the decapitated head of one of the other men into the trussed guard’s face. The bound man cried out in shock and screwed up his eyes.

“Get out of here you idiot!” snapped Lereahl, shoving the elf away. Eol stumbled backwards, only to be smacked on the head with a staff by a disapproving Wolfenight.

“Sorry about him,” said Lereahl to the guard. He slowly opened his eyes again.

“What’s your name?” asked Targar.

“S-Stuart,” mumbled the guard.

“Nice to meet you Stuart. Now, what exactly is going on here?” asked Targar.

“I don’t know anything! I’m just a guard!” the man whimpered.

“Okay then. Who does know what’s going on?”

“The scientists? Maybe?”

“Science-ists?” asked Wolfenight.

“Yeah. The scientists. Guys in white coats. Doing experiments and tests and other freaky crap.”

“There are people here dedicated to doing science?” Wolfenight seemed baffled. It was unheard of for anyone in Planeswalker City or any other plane he’d visited to study science. Everybody was quite happy with thaumatology and magic.

“Okay. Now, do you know this girl?” Targar asked Stuart, pulling out the tiny painting they had found.

“T-that’s Sierra Rose. And that’s her father, Joel. I knew him. Why do you want to know?”

“Never mind that. Just tell us where we can find her,” said Targar looking grim.

“Not far from here. You can look up their address on the computer over there,” Stuart said, nodding towards one of the tables.

“A compa-what?” asked Targar, looking confused.

“The computer. You know. Google,” the man said. He was met with more blank looks.

“Shall I, uh, do it for you?” asked Stuart.

Targar looked at the others who only shrugged in confusion.

“Sure. Why not?” said Targar. He let the man up. His hands were still bound tightly, but Targar kept a hold of the rope just in case he tried anything. Stuart led them over to one of the strange glowing boxes atop a table. Everyone was quite alarmed when Stuart began tapping on buttons and the flat square lit up with pictures and light.

“Yes, here it is. That’s their address. I knew it wasn’t too far from here,” said Stuart, pointing to some odd runes that had just magically appeared on the lit square.

“Well, lead the way then,” said Targar, tugging on the lead rope. The group followed as Stuart led them out of the room. Lereahl paused one last time to admire the strange picture machine. Wolfenight paused to lick it.

 

Little did they know, but the group now looked even stranger. Stuart had suggested that the Planeswalkers might want to trade some of their otherworldly armour for clothes of this civilian realm.  Eol was now wearing long pants of some rough blue material, a strange cap thing with a stiff brim at the front and a short, white tunic with odd colourings on the front. Targar was wearing the only thing that fit him, a medium length tunic coloured pink with flowers printed on it. Stuart had advised him against it, but the Dwarf had ignored him. Wolfenight seemed appalled at the thought of giving up his robe and hat.

“How will people know I’m a wizard without my wizard’s hat and robe?” he’d said.

Lereahl had also declined to change his attire, turning up his nose at the odd garments he’d been offered. None of them matched his style. Celerean was of a similar mindset.

So like this they walked through the streets, Stuart still tied up, the end of his rope held by Targar like a dog. The buildings were grey and in bad repair. They looked war-torn. The people looked the same; dull, battered and weary.

Before they reached the address they were looking for, they came across a small grassy park full of children and metal equipment upon which they climbed and played. Among them was the small girl from the picture.

“Sierra!” called Stuart. The little girl looked up and walked cautiously over to them. She looked from one Planeswalker to the next, her young face slowly growing more puzzled.

“You’re Daddy’s friend,” she said, pointing to Stuart. Stuart nodded.

“But you’re strangers,” she said, pointing at Targar.

“Sierra, we have something for you from your father,” said Targar softly. He didn’t have to kneel – he was already at eye level with the child, but he did so anyway. He held out the small bag of gems and the photograph of Sierra and her father. The girl took the items. She looked at the picture, then back to Targar’s sad face.

“Where’s my Daddy?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” said Targar.

Sierra’s small chin began to quiver. Suddenly, there was an arrow protruding from her forehead. She keeled over backwards with a soft thump. Everyone turned in shock. Eol was looking disgustedly at the dead girl. He suddenly felt everyone’s gazes.

“What?” His tone was indignant. “She was gonna cry. I hate crying children. Especially human infants. Ugh.” He shuddered and crinkled his nose.

Targar’s face slowly turned redder than his hair. His knuckles cracked as his fingers tightened on his warhammer. Lady Celerean’s new gun clicked as she loaded it and aimed at the elf in anger. She got off several shots; two to Eol’s chest and one, ironically, to his head before Targar stormed up and caved his skull in, finishing him off. Angry that she didn’t get the last shot in, Celerean turned on Targar and cocked her gun again. Before the dwarf could react, Wolfenight stepped in. He fluttered his fingers at the bard. For a second, nothing happened. Then Celerean paused, confused as a small piece of parchment fluttered down in front of her. She bent to pick it up. One side was blank. She turned it over to read aloud a single word: Pity. As soon as the syllables had passed her lips, the runes on the paper ignited and blew with the force of a small bomb.

When the smoke cleared, Celerean lay dead and charred in the pool of dark blood seeping from the holes in Eol’s body. Lereahl could only stand and stare in shock. Targar snorted with satisfaction at the sight, but then turned sadly back to Sierra’s body. Gently, he closed her eyes, removed the arrow from her head and wiped away the blood. Then he began to dig.

Targar patted down the soft earth. The playground was silent now. The children had all run away in terror. They had buried Sierra with the photo of her father and the tiny bag of gems in her hands. Targar stood and dusted the earth from his knees. He looked sadly at the plain mound, obviously wanting something more. Wolfenight stepped forwards and cleared his throat softly. He cupped his hands and a look of concentration came over his face. Coloured lights spilled from his hands and flowed onto the fresh dirt. They took shape, forming into the ghostly figure of Targar kneeling before Sierra. Targar turned away gruffly, wiping furiously at his wet face.

 

Stuart had unfortunately been hit in the scuffle and as such, the three remaining Planeswalkers had to find their own way back to the compound they had arrived in. Upon reaching the door, they realised that none of them had a key to get back in. There appeared to be no lock to pick either.

“I have an idea!” said Wolfenight. “Hold onto me tight.”

Lereahl looked at Targar, puzzled for the umpteenth time that day. Targar shrugged and grasped the Wizard’s skinny shoulders. Lereahl hugged Wolfenight around the middle with a concealed grin. Wolfenight squeezed his eyes shut.

“Let’s just hope we don’t end up in a wall,” he said, much to the alarm of the other two.

Suddenly, they were inside. Targar and Lereahl let go, feeling a little nauseous.

“Any dizziness or nausea is to be expected,” Wofenight said casually. “Dimensional doors are hard to get used to.”

Lereahl was bent nearly double trying to get his breath back.

“You don’t say,” he wheezed.

 

They found their way back to the room with the ‘computers’. Wolfenight was tempted to stay and investigate them a little more, but Targar was able to drag him away. They found themselves in a corridor with a dead end, a very heavy-duty, locked metal door and a metal cupboard. Lereahl couldn’t figure out how to unlock this door either, but the cupboard was quite easy. Inside they found lots of short, brass coloured metal tubes, the likes of which they had seen Celerean fitting into her new weapon. There were also stacks of small papers with strange green marks all over them and a palm sized rectangle of some strange flexible material. Wolfenight took it, interested in its hard but pliable properties.

They then turned to the door. There appeared to be a similar locking mechanism to the outside door here, and again they could not figure it out. Targar was quick to offer to try and break the door down with brute strength, but Wolfenight shook his head with a wild grin. He began collecting the brass tubes from the cupboard, popping them open and pouring the powder inside onto a pile on the floor at the door. Lereahl sniffed. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the narrow corridor. He understood now what the Wizard was up to.

When Wolfenight had created a sufficiently large pile of black powder, he looked around for some sort of fuse. There was none to be found.

“How about this paper?” asked Targar, holding up one of the neat sheafs of green.

“Sure, that’ll light it on fire, but you’ll be much too close. You’ll go up with it,” said Wolfenight. He put a finger to his chin, thinking. His eyes strayed to Lereahl. The half-elf was inspecting the nick in one of his arrowheads with a frown on his pointed face. Wolfenight grinned.

The wad of green paper took the flame merrily on the end of Lereahl’s arrow. The others stood behind him as he aimed from around the corner of the far end of the corridor. He fired. The explosion was deafening and blew the metal door completely off its frame. The companions hurried towards the room beyond. In it, a man in a fine, but now powder coated, military uniform was coughing and spluttering and looking enraged. Wolfenight squeaked in alarm, pointed at the man and shouted,

“Sleep!”

The man went cross-eyed for a moment, froze, and then crumpled to the ground, snoring.

 

The charm spell Wolfenight used this time was much stronger, so when the man woke up, he was quite amicable about the blast patterns on the floor and the bent metal door.

“Commander Gerald,” he said in a hoarse, well-used voice, shaking each of the Planeswalkers’ hands as they introduced themselves too. He explained to them that he didn’t usually take well to strangers like them. Wolfenight carefully avoided the commander’s eye at these words. But Gerald went on to explain why. There was something wrong with their world. One day, hundreds upon thousands of demon-like creatures had come pouring through some kind of invisible door. These creatures pillaged and burned and destroyed whatever they came into contact. Commander Gerald was the leader of the force organised to stop this slaughter and turn back the tide of rampaging monsters. The mountain of rotting, ochre skinned creatures in the sewers now made sense.

“So, this door, where is it?” asked Wolfenight.

“What does it matter to you?” asked the commander, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Well, I sensed a disturbance in the thaumatical flow of this plane the moment we stepped into it. I was just wondering if we might be able to help with your problem,” he said.

Commander Gerald looked at him, confused.

“I don’t know how you’re going to help. My best scientists can’t even tell me exactly what the damned thing is,” he said.

“Just try us,” said Lereahl, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Gerald sighed.

“It’s right there,” he said, pointing to the far end of the room. They all looked.

At the end of the room, there was a small, raised platform of more of the cold, grey, artificial stone. There were yellow and black markings all around the edges. The area on the platform looked normal enough at first glance, but when one looked harder, the air seemed to warp slightly, like a heat haze. Wolfenight approached the platform, looking curiously at the phenomenon.

“Hm...” he said ponderously and reached out a hand. The bent air seemed to move out of the way of his hand.

“It appears to be only one way,” he mumbled.

“Yeah. That we know,” growled Gerald. “We’ve tried throwing the creatures back through it, but it just moves around them.”

Wolfenight reached into a pocket and pulled out what appeared to be an old crab leg. Lereahl looked on in disgust as the Wizard tossed the leg through the heat haze. The warped air moved around the crustacean limb and it clattered to the floor, confirming the commander’s words. Wolfenight walked around the platform and retrieved the leg. He tapped it thoughtfully on his nose. The next second, the wizard had vanished. Lereahl started forwards, alarmed. Wolfenight suddenly appeared on the top of the platform. The rippling air around him seemed to quiver, shrink and disappear. Wolfenight smiled.

“All fixed,” he said. Commander Gerald stared at him, gobsmacked.

“Wh-what? H-how? How did you do that?” he stammered, rubbing his eyes again.

“Oh. Simple really. What you had there was a spatial-temporal rift in the planar fabric, caused by wayward magical emissions,” replied Wolfenight, stepping off the platform.

“A-a what?”

“A door. A door between dimensions. I have a spell that lets me open such doors. I opened one, walked through it, and closed both behind me.” Wolfenight shrugged.

Gerald looked as if he could kiss Wolfenight. He settled instead on furiously pumping his hand and then offering them stacks and stacks of the green paper they had seen earlier.

“Paper? Why would we want this?” asked Wolfenight, staggering as Gerald shoved it into his arms.

“Paper? This is money!”

“Oh...”

For Wilfred!

Good evening internet! IamsosorryIhavenotpostedastoryinawhilepleasedon'teatme.

Lereahl was bored. For the past week, he hadn’t been able to find his usual misfit band of compatriots down at their usual haunt, The Mooneared Badger. So, he now found himself in the company of several others, traipsing through a Gate and into a thick, lush forest. The only face he knew among those around him, was the thickset druid Tarloch; his dinosaur companion stalked silently behind him, a few inches taller than all of them. Eolderin was a druid also. He was of average height for an elf and messy, sandy blonde hair hung in front of his bright green eyes. A longbow was slung over his back and a needle sharp bone dagger was at his side. He had objected furiously to Lereahl’s accompanying them at first. He apparently had a vicious hatred of humans, making Lereahl, who was a human-elf hybrid, even lower in his eyes. The last member of their party looked to be a completely ordinary man. He was black-haired, pale-pale skinned and about as tall as Lereahl. He had introduced himself simply as “Frank”. Not much else had been needed to let them know there was something off about the fellow.

 

They’d gone a little way into the forest without any sort of confrontation. The only movement they saw in the dense brush was the fluttering of leaves and swaying vines.

“Ow,” said Frank, making the group stop and look back at him. A stick had poked him in the eye. Tarloch sighed and looked up at the canopy. His expression turned into one of a frown.

“Vines moving,” he said in his slow, deep voice.

“It’s just the wind,” snapped Eol, sneering at the human.

“No. Vines moving. Like snake,” the druid said, pointing up into the trees.

Lereahl looked up in alarm. He didn’t much like snakes. But Tarloch was right. The vines above their heads were curling and twisting in a rather lifelike fashion, swaying curiously towards the travellers. Eol grunted derisively and scampered up the nearest tree trunk.

“Uh, I don’t know if you should do that,” called Lereahl as the elf disappeared into the leaves.

“Shut up, half-blood!” called Eol.

He’d only climbed as far as the first few branches when the vines he had come to see whipped out and curled themselves around his legs. Eol shrieked and grabbed onto a branch as the vines tugged at him. He was still screaming as he hastily pulled his dagger out and hacked at the binding tendrils. With a hiss, the vines released the elf and he tumbled to the ground, looking dazed.

“Well. I won’t say I told you so, but I must compliment you on your lovely girly screams,” said Lereahl, his grey eyes glittering in amusement. He offered to help the elf up.

“I was not screaming,” Eol snapped, batting away the proffered hand. “I was simply breathing high-pitched.”

Lereahl and Frank sniggered.

 

The group headed north. The lush forest broke suddenly upon a small, pebbly lake shore. A thin mist hung over the water, slightly obscuring the far bank. Eol ventured slowly down to the water’s edge and dipped a toe in. He squeaked and fell back.

“Damn that water’s cold!” he hissed.

“Wuss,” muttered Lereahl, who had turned away, a small sack in a hole catching his attention. He surreptitiously opened it to reveal a dozen or so glinting gold coins. The bag was in his pocket as quick as winking. When he turned back, he found the others arguing over whether to retrace their steps or not. They hadn’t noticed yet that ice crystals were creeping out from the edge of the lake.

“Guys, look,” said the rogue, pointing this out. They all quieted and watched as the ice spread rapidly. They pulled their cloaks closer around themselves as the temperature dropped and the lake’s surface froze completely.

“Cross lake now?” offered Tarlcoh.

“We could. I daresay the ice will thicken in a few minutes, judging from the speed at which the lake froze over,” said Lereahl.

“Who go first?” asked Tarloch. He, Lereahl, Frank and the dinosaur looked at Eol, who was still rubbing his chilled toes. He looked up, feeling their gazes on him.

“Uh... I’m not going out on that ice. No way,” he said shortly, glaring at them. Frank stepped forwards, a mildly menacing look on his face.

“No, no, no, no,” said Eol, rapidly backing away from the cleric. Frank grinned evilly and went to shove the elf. Eol however, stepped nimbly out of the way. His cry of triumph however, turned to a cry of dismay as his sidestep took him out onto the frozen lake. He slipped and wobbled over the ice, eventually coming to a standstill, arms thrown out wide for balance. There was a sharp crack and Eol was gone, falling through the thin ice with a shriek. Out of the rend in the ice came a hissing cloud. The mist formed into a vortex of ice and snow and then into two hunched, humanoid figures with glittering, icy blue skin and white eyes. The larger one screamed at the travellers. It was an unearthly sound, like fingernails on a blackboard. They rushed the companions, landing heavy blows. Lereahl leapt back and fit and arrow to his bow string, loosing it fast. A second quickly followed the first and struck the smaller of the ice elementals in the shoulder. It keened and slashed angrily at Frank. Torlach’s dinosaur was snapping at the larger one as it aimed for his master. Torlach himself had his hands turned to the sky and was muttering rapidly under his breath. With a blast that took their breath away, a jagged bolt of lightning shot from the clouds and hit the larger ice monster. It reeled back in pain, but still stood. It roared at Tarloch and charged him again. Tarloch raised his hands and muttered the words again, drawing a second sizzling bolt from the sky. This one was enough to blast the elemental into a million tiny shards of ice. Seconds after, Lereahl nailed the smaller elemental, his arrows shattering the creature’s icy hide. The strange, cold mist curled and withdrew and the ice on the surface of the lake melted and disappeared. Eol took great, gulping breaths of air and came swimming slowly towards the party. He hauled himself up the pebbly bank, shivering and glaring at Frank.

 

They’d had to turn around and head back the way they came anyway; the forest had been too thick to penetrate past the lake. The forest to the south of where they’d stepped out of the portal was thinner and eventually gave way to a cold, grassy plain. Ahead of them, they could see a figure lying in the grass. They approached slowly, to find an armour clad centaur lying very still and bloodied. At first they thought he was dead, but when Eol knelt to check if he was breathing, the creature coughed, blood flecking his chin. Eol was quick to offer him a health potion. Several of the centuar’s wounds were instantly healed by sizzling white sparks of magic and he was able to pull himself to his feet.

“What’s your name, friend?” asked Lereahl.

“Wilfred,” replied the creature.

“What happened here?” asked Eol, looking around at the crushed, bloodied grass. Here and there were chunk of rotting flesh.

“I was part of a troop – there was around thirty of us – hunting the creatures of the night.”

Lereahl sniggered, but Wilfred continued.

“There has been something of a plague of them in this part of the world. We do not know why. Would you two-legs be kind enough to help me back to my camp and my comrades? I am sure I can find more medical supplies there.”

 

The camp was deserted. Signs of hurried packing were apparent and the leather of the tents flapped with lonely sounds in the chilly wind. They moved through the camp and eventually came across a bunch of hoof prints leading to the south.

“There are no supplies left here. Would you honourable fellows help me find my troop?” asked Wilfred, looking off into the dark forest to the south.

“I’d love to!” said Eol, hurrying forwards. Tarloch however, shook his head. He’d had a small, discontented look on his face since they’d found the centaur lying helpless on the battlefield.

“No. Tarloch will not,” he said. “Wilfred, time is up for you. Beast so close to death must die. Only right. Is way of nature.”

The centaur looked taken aback. Lereahl rolled his eyes. The druid often went on like this; he’d seen it before. Lessons from Tarloch’s past had taught him that souls close to death had to die. ‘Twas why the druid despised the undead. To him, they were the most unnatural things on all the planes.

“You can’t be serious. Please, just return me to my herd. I am sure they have medicine for me. I can fight again, I assure you,” said Wilfred slowly backing away.

“Yeah , human! Keep your filthy paws off the pony!” said Eol, stepping in front of the centaur. Lereahl just wandered away and began pocketing anything valuable left in the camp. He knew not to get between the druid and his prey. Frank on the other hand was nodding pensively, considering Tarloch’s words.

“You’re right. The weak have no right to live on any longer.”

“Death and spirit shall be reborn anew. Life important,” said Tarloch, grabbing the violently protesting Eol by the shoulders and pulling him away.

“Can I do it?” asked Frank, grinning evilly. Tarloch nodded.

Frank stepped towards the quailing centaur and stretched out his hand. The death-touch was a mighty weapon. As soon as Frank’s fingers brushed Wilfred’s hairy arm, the centaur crumbled into dust.

“Nooo!” Eol threw off Tarloch’s restraining grip and rushed towards the pile of ashes. “Wilfred...” He knelt in the dust, looking dismally at the pile that had once been the noble centaur – then began stuffing the ashes into his bag.

 

The group journeyed further into the forest. The trees here were sickly looking; grey and diseased. There grew a strange, eerie feeling as the sun began to set. A sharp wind brought the smell of more decaying flesh. After disabling a cleverly disguised pit trap in the middle of the road, the group spotted a troop of centaurs in the distance. Eol burst into tears and ran towards them. Tarloch, Lereahl and Frank ran to catch up with him.

“They killed Wilfred!” Eol was shouting, pointing at the druid and the cleric. The centaur warriors looked utterly bewildered. Even more so as Eol ripped open his satchel and began throwing grey powder at them – Wilfred’s ashes. One of the gruffer, more dangerous looking ones stepped forwards. He glared at Eol as a puff of ash landed on his shoulder. The elf quailed under the glare.

“Wilfred? But he fell during out last battle. Why do you disrespect his memory like this?” he growled.

“But – he – they – Wilfred...” Eol’s lip quivered. The burly centaur turned to the others.

“You two-legs shouldn’t be in this forest. Why have you come?”

“We are Planeswalkers,” said Lereahl. The centaur’s frown turned into a grin. No more explanation was really needed.

“Well, well. Planeswalkers. Fancy helping a little?” he asked.

Everyone but Eol nodded. The elf pouted and looked at them all.

“Fine, I’ll help too,” he said finally.

 

Eol looked around carefully. It was nearly night. The centaurs were bunched closely, their backs together, the Planeswalkers ranged around them. Through the shadowy trees came the first rattling growls. Squinting, the warriors peered through the trees, setting eyes upon a shuffling horde of the undead.

“For Wilfred!” cried Eol, firing an arrow into a rapidly shambling skeleton.

Tarloch was using a different strategy now. He was muttering again, but this time, his skin began to glow gold. His shape seemed to ripple and change. He swelled in size and then suddenly, an enormous brown bear was standing between them and a hissing mummy. Tarloch rose up with his new, towering height and collided with the undead creature, smashing it twice and then grappling it with enormous forepaws. Lereahl was able to dash around behind the bandaged creature and sink two arrows into its sandy back, severing its spine. The mummy crumpled beneath Torlach’s weight and the bear roared triumphantly. Around them, the centaurs, Eol and Frank were finishing up the rest of the zombies. Lereahl strode up and patted Torlach on the head.

“Nice job, Whinnie the Pooh,” he said, a sly grin on his face. He withdrew his hand quickly as Torlach snapped at it in annoyance. They were distracted however by a sudden, horrific screeching. The sky was suddenly full of huge black wings as a skeletal dragon swooped down on the pair. Eol and Frank had a new opponent too. A huge, fat zombie staggered out of the undergrowth, roaring in hunger and fury. It launched itself at the elf and human as the undead dragon snapped at the half-elf and the bear. More, smaller black, bony dragons were pouring from the sky, snatching up the centaurs.

Tarloch roared and lunged at the dragon’s head, scoring great gouges in the rotting flesh. Tarloch’s dinosaur companion was whaling too on the creature. Lereahl was peppering the rancid hide with arrows.

Eol drew arrow after arrow and sank them into the fat zombie he and Frank dodged the grasping claws of the swooping dragons. Frank’s normally passive face was creased in concentration as he tried to turn the huge zombie to his will. The creature however, was much too strong. Eol, seeing Frank’s failure to bend the undead behemoth, pulled out a flask of acid and hurled it. The flask connected with the side of the zombie’s head and shattered, melting off half its face. The zombie however, just kept coming. Eol loaded arrow after arrow and finally just shot the zombie’s head off. The enormous body quivered and simply fell over.

The dragon was furious after being repeated smacked in the head by furry paws and lunged at Tarloch. The bear however, was ready for the attack and was able to crush the undead dragon’s skull beneath his paws. Tarloch’s dinosaur, unaware the enemy was dead, continued to attack its spine enthusiastically.

When the dust settled, the Planeswalkers realised that they were all alone. Every single one of the centaurs was either dead or had been carried off by the black dragons. They looked around at the corpses sadly. Tarloch however raised his nose to the wind. He had sensed some greater evil living deep in the darkness of the woods. He was still a bear though and was not able to communicate this to his companions, so he dropped down onto all fours and with a stern look at the others, began to shamble off into the forest. Eol looked at Lereahl and Frank and shrugged.

“Where’s he going?”

“Dunno. But he seems to know what he’s doing. C’mon guys, we’d best follow Paddington Bear.”

 

They moved silently towards the clearing. The three figures wore black hoods and chanted in low, eerie voices to the beat of their pounding scythes. Beneath their hoods, their eyes glowed white and pupil less. Frank gasped in awe as a dark portal appeared in the middle of the figures. Slowly, a glistening, spiny black leg rose from the shadowy hole, followed by the sharp carapace of a huge spider-like demon. Lereahl was first out of the shadows, firing arrows into cracks in the fiend’s armour.

“Get ‘im Sir Bearington!” yelled Lereahl as Tarloch charged the demon. Tarloch’s dinosaur and Eol leapt into the fray too as the black-robed men turned on them. Eol sent an arrow into one of them. The hooded figure hissed in pain and sent two balls of pulsing white magic right back at the elf.

Tarloch smacked the screeching demon’s spiny claws away and shuddered as it lunged forwards and sank its fangs into him. The dinosaur crowed and leapt onto the creature’s shiny back, scrabbling at its eyes. The demon howled and let Torlach go. The bear stumbled back, now muttering low words with healing powers. With the demon distracted and Tarloch no longer bleeding, he was able to slip under the shining carapace. With a powerful blow, the demon’s head came clean off and its body jerked, twitched and rolled over.

Lerehal was now able to assist Frank and Eol. They were faring badly. Eol had been hit just a few too many times with magic missiles. Lereahl took one out in one shot, and then with the next, killed the sorcerer Tarloch’s dinosaur had just pinned to the ground. Eol had just fitted another arrow to his bow when Frank sauntered up and lopped off the last sorcerer’s head. Eol looked devastated as the robed body slumped into the grey grass.

Tarloch roared triumphantly standing over the dead demon. The ursine sound echoed through the forest but soon faded into a dark silence. They all turned quickly, weapons raised as they heard sudden crunchings and rustlings in the scrub behind them. Bow strings tightened and creaked as the sounds grew louder – but the companions sighed in relief as the creature emerged. It was the centaur leader, looking very battered and bloodied. He looked from them to the slain demon and back. His expression was grim but relieved. The companions lowered their weapons.

“Where are the others?” asked Eol.

“Dead,” sighed the centaur and his gaze shifted towards the great black demon again.

“Oh,” replied Eol, his face falling.

“Do not worry. They fought and died well. They shall rest easy knowing that you have slain the root of the evil that has been growing in this forest. We thank you for that. Now the healing process can begin,” the grizzled creature replied, bowing his head.

“We were glad to have helped,” replied Lereahl, bowing solemnly.

They looked around, realising that the shadows were growing lighter. The gloom was lifting. The sun was rising. Already they could hear the chirping of returning birds and the tiny green buds of new leaves on trees.